


Requiem for a Tower

by dracoqueen22



Category: Transformers (Bay Movies)
Genre: Angst, Break Up, Cross-Factional Relationship, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Pre and Post Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-04
Updated: 2013-11-04
Packaged: 2017-12-31 13:05:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1032033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracoqueen22/pseuds/dracoqueen22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the beginning, there was a Towerling and the Seeker who intrigued him. By the end, what's left is ashes on the air flows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. At First Sight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dellessa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dellessa/gifts).



> Three of these were originally posted in my Database in Transmission collection, but with every new prompt, they formed a storyline of their own, so I gathered them together for reader's convenience. One piece is entirely new. I'm calling this complete, but no one ever knows what the muses will give you.

Title: At First Sight  
Universe: Bayverse, pre-series  
Characters: Mirage, Thundercracker   
Rating: K+  
Warning:   
Description: In the beginning, there was a Towerling and the Seeker who intrigued him. 

For dellessa and the prompt, MiragexThundercracker, best laid plans

 

When the Lord High Protector first makes his appearance, all optics are naturally drawn to him. He is large, imposing, and exudes an aura of power and confidence. 

Mirage, however, finds his gaze landing on Lord Megatron's companions. One is a silver carrier mech, his face concealed by a visor and mask, but the other is a Seeker, all sleek turquoise plating, broad wings, and digitigrade legs. He holds himself with a stately bearing, his optics sweeping the room, assessing it for threats. 

He cannot remember the Seeker's designation, only knowing that there had been a hasty replacement assigned in lieu of Lord Megatron's usual accompaniment. That doesn't stop Mirage from intending to find out. 

He has never shown any interest in Skywarp or Skyquake, but this Seeker has a different quality somehow. 

Mirage grabs a glass of coolant for himself and the Seeker and makes his way through the crowd. Curiosity compels him. 

He is not the only one. 

Patrons and guests alike flock to the Lord High Protector and his companions. Some are the same as Mirage, short and delicate, frames built for beauty and not function. Others are larger, dignitaries of nearby city-states and the like. The rush makes for a difficult view, a throng that blocks him. 

In the push and pull, Mirage loses sight of his quarry. Annoyance bites at his poise. 

Others vie for Mirage's attention, but he has optics for the Seeker alone. 

The Lord High Protector has found his Prime, clasping hands, their fields crashing together in such a way that it affects everyone in the ball room. Together, they attract an awestruck gaggle of admirers. The carrier is holding court with the representatives from Vos and Tarn, one arm making a vague gesture. 

The Seeker is nowhere to be seen. Frustration eats at Mirage. He downs his coolant, both glasses, and exchanges them for high grade. 

He extricates himself from Senator Ratbat's clutches, offers an apologetic smile to Xaaron, and sidesteps Tracks, another noble of similar construction to his own. 

Still, the Seeker proves elusive. Some guardian. 

Mirage feels as though he is in the Altrax Plains, hunting a turbofox. 

The background music shifts to Cybertron's anthem. Lights dim. Optimus Prime and his High Protector take center stage, preparing to lead the guests in a dance as they lead the planet in all other matters – together. As is the custom. 

Mirage tilts his helm. Turbofox. 

He halts, inspired by the comparison, already distracted from the dance. His optics swing to the balcony. 

Isolated. Quiet. Perfect. 

With all optics on their ruling diad, Mirage slips out unnoticed. His diligence is rewarded by first sight of the Seeker, night cycle lighting a gleam on freshly waxed armor. Out here, it appears darker than the bright turquoise Mirage remembers, and the swirls and loops of his clan markings are even more apparent. 

He is, simply put, beautiful. 

“Not much for parties, I see,” Mirage says by way of announcing himself, though he is sure the Seeker is more than aware of his presence. A warrior's instincts, no doubt. 

The Seeker half-turns, his optics a soft, red gleam in the shadows. “Not one for noise,” he says, and plating ruffles before sleeking down. “Or company.” 

“What about high grade?” Mirage offers, lifting his hands to showcase the pulsing violet glow of the cubes he carries. 

Interest brightens the Seeker's optics and he accepts the cube Mirage offers. “One such as myself considers this a tease. But thank you nonetheless.” 

“I do remember hearing that flight-builds require denser concentrations,” Mirage replies, settling in beside the Seeker. “The sacrifice, I suppose, for the gift of flight.” 

“Perhaps.” Concession is given. 

They take their first drink, Mirage admiring the warm burst of sensation across his glossa, the sharp tingle down his intake, and the quiet burn in his tanks. This is a lovely brew. 

“I am Mirage. My caretaker's are this gala's hosts,” he says, hoping that the energon will have loosened the Seeker's obviously tightly wound gears. “Might I have the pleasure of knowing your designation?” 

“Thundercracker,” the Seeker replies, and then adds, in his own language, several identifying glyphs that Mirage does not recognize, but are intriguing to hear. 

Mirage sidles closer. “Tell me, Thundercracker, why a mech who doesn't enjoy parties accompanies our High Protector to one?” 

“I drew the short strut.” 

Mirage laughs at Thundercracker's dry tone. “Then you were unlucky.” 

Sipping at the high grade, Thundercracker turns fully toward him, optics sweeping Mirage from the crest of his helm to the curve of his pedes. “Up until now, I was beginning to think so.” His field ripples in the bare space between them, polite, questioning, and, Mirage notices, offering. 

Inside, Mirage can hear that the music is still playing, all attention grabbed by their ruling diad. More dancers join them on the floor; more servants ply the guests with decanters of coolant and high grade. The gala will run well into the night cycle, until early day cycle no doubt. 

Mirage lets his own field unfurl, lust a slow and steady purr through his systems. “I believe I have something to better suit your palate in my quarters. Care to join me?” 

Thundercracker's optics burn brighter, his field a hot tickle against Mirage's own. “Yes.” 

Mirage grins. 

***


	2. Fences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before there were factions, the lines still divided them.

"You're joining the _Decepticons_?" Mirage hisses, leaping back from Thundercracker as though he's been burned, nearly yanking out the cords that connect them. "Have you gone glitched?"

Thundercracker bristles, plating clamped down tight, unable to stop the hurt and disappointment from transmitting over their connection. "Yes, I am," he grounds out. "Because you might have a future in the towers, but I'll never be more than a third class citizen."

Or worse. Because he's cannon fodder with a tactician's processor by some trick of Primus. He wasn't meant to be this intelligent, but he is, and it's slowly killing him, as surely as a rust infection.

"Joining that _tyrant_ is not going to solve anything!" Mirage sneers and reaches for his port, yanking out Thundercracker's connector and all but tossing it back to him.

Thundercracker, at least, is much more gentle in the way he disconnects them and hands Mirage his own cord. "Neither is your false Prime," he argues, vents kicking on in the wake of his rising tide of anger. "He's a fragged figure head! The Council's makeshift drone!"

Mirage's noble-gold optics brighten in outrage. "Megatron would see everyone deactivated! He's as false as you claim Optimus to be!"

Another retreating step seems most prudent, for his own safety if not Mirage's. Thundercracker stares at his partner, who would have never been his bonded in this society, and wonders if he's been mistaken. If he never really understood Mirage at all.

Mirage is truly beautiful, the sight of him enough to make Thundercracker's spark surge. He's everything nobility and piles of creds can buy. He's also intelligent. Compassionate. Willing to see more than origins or caste. He's a better example of what the nobility should be.

But he doesn't get it. And he never will.

Thundercracker draws up straight, to his full height which towers over Mirage. "I'd rather die for Megatron's ambition than live like this any longer," he says, with utter honesty.

It hurts, it does, but it's a purifying pain. Like he's finally made the right decision. Mirage won't join him, and he refuses to side with the Autobots. This is the only way he can have a future, even if it means one without Mirage.

"You want things changed, I get that," Mirage says, his vocalizer softer now, as though he's realizing something. "But Megatron is not the way to do it. Optimus is different. He's trying, he's-"

"Too late," Thundercracker interrupts, and yes, it does emerge as a static-laced snarl. Another tremor races through his frame, his wings fluttering. "Nothing's going to change unless we take it."

He takes another moment, where his optics look at Mirage from helm to pede, taking in the elegant lines of his high caste frame. The soft, gleaming blue of his paint. The gold of his optics. And Thundercracker's spark flutters with warmth.

In the end, however, he knows that being with Mirage is not enough to satisfy him. He wants his freedom, he wants to be something more.

The Decepticons are the only chance he has to obtain that.

"You haven't even given him the opportunity," Mirage says imploringly.

Thundercracker shakes his helm, taking another step backward. "And I'm not going to. This is goodbye, Mirage."

He doesn't give the noble mech a chance to say anything else, instead activating his thrusters and pushing into the sky. He knows that if he stays, he might let Mirage convince him.

So when Mirage pings his comm unit, Thundercracker ignores it with a ruthless abandon that surprises even himself.

***


	3. Happenstance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is not how Mirage pictured his end.

Invisibility means slag when it comes to avoiding Decepticon fire. He can hide himself, blend into the shadows, hide in plain sight. But it only takes one misaimed shot that he doesn't avoid for his special ability to be useless.

Not for the first time does Mirage regret his arrogance in preferring such an expensive mod. But no. He wanted to be unique. Special. Different from all the other towerlings and their flashy frames and paint jobs and pets and servants and personal, turbo-charged racers.

He wanted to be as invisible as his commissioners often made him feel. That, perhaps, had convinced him the most.

Now, here he is, dying on some battlefield amongst Autobots and Decepticons alike, having accomplished nothing he set out to do, having failed at everything, and with little to show for his efforts.

He can't transform. He can't call for help. Can barely move, truth be told, and certainly can't seem to twitch himself out from being buried by the dead airframe half-draped across his chassis. By the time some Autobot stumbles across him, if they even bother searching the battlefield for survivors, Mirage will be offline. Cold and grey.

This is not how he imagined his spark would extinguish.

His commissioners would sneer, Mirage thinks. They would have considered it a fitting end for a mech who turned so far from what they wanted. If they were still online, that is. But they aren't, because the Towers were the first to fall.

A bitter crack of a laugh escapes Mirage's vocalizer, loud amidst the after-battle silence, the cooling pings of once-heated metal, the faint groaning of another mech gradually turning grey in the distance, the drip-drip of a mech bleeding out.

Oh, wait. Maybe that's his own energon.

No, this isn't at all how Mirage pictured his ending. Or his function. Or any of it really.

Mirage's audials twitch. Overhead, he hears a low, rumbling sound. Engines. Jet engines. Seekers. Probably doing a sweep of the battlefield, checking for emergency signals, the usual. Easier for a Seeker to do a fly by than for ground vehicles to pick their way through the rugged, frame-strewn terrain.

The engine stalls. It gets louder. Closer. There's a harsh thump. The ground beneath Mirage trembles, his sensors struggling to make sense of the vibrations. Metal rings on metal. The Seeker has landed nearby.

Mirage's ventilations stutter. He struggles to online his optics. One is cracked, useless. But the other powers on in fitful bursts, giving him a bleary view of a large, dark shape approaching. He resets his optics again, hoping for a clearer picture.

The Seeker gets closer. Lifts a frame near Mirage's. Small, minibot maybe. Only the Seeker tosses it aside with a disgruntled grind of gears.

The Decepticon is within striking distance now, not that Mirage can move. He sees that helm swivel his direction, gleaming red optics bright to Mirage's fuzzy vision. The weight disappears from Mirage's chassis.

He makes a sound, a soft cry of pain escaping him. The empty frame had been heavily armored, spikes protruding every which direction, and one had pierced a line in Mirage's thigh plating. Energon pulses sluggishly from the wound. Guess he doesn't have much to spare.

Above him, the crouching Seeker makes a contemplative hum. "Got a live one, Screamer," he says aloud.

There's a pause. Mirage tries to move, but gets nothing. His fingers twitch. His vocalizer spits static.

Death would be preferable to the Decepticon prison camps.

"You sure? Could be useful as a trade or something."

A chill trickles down Mirage's backstrut. He attempts to activate his shoulder cannon, but error readings flash over his HUD.

His vision clarifies, the face of the Seeker coming into better detail. Not that it matters. In the end, one Decepticon looks like all the others.

"Whatever you say, Commander."

The Seeker's attention turns entirely to Mirage, optics gleaming in an unsettling manner.

Mirage reroutes a fair majority of his efforts to his vocalizer. He can't move, but he'll be fragged if he onlines without so much as a sharp word exchanged.

"Offline me," he challenges. Anything to avoid becoming a prisoner. "I'll tell you nothing."

The Decepticon stares at him for a long, confusing moment before he clucks a crude Seeker glyph. "You never could tell us apart, could you, Mirage?"

His spark surges. It's improbable.

"... Thundercracker?" The designation is little more than a static-laden whisper. His entire frame twitches. "You're still online."

But protoform grey now. His stripes and colors are gone. Abandoned or stripped from him, Mirage doesn't know. He's heard rumors but that's all. He can't see anything of the lovely turquoise that Thundercracker used to bear.

All he can see is that hideous Decepticon sigil stamped proudly on his once-lover's chestplate.

"Autobots can't bring me down that easily," Thundercracker retorts, his optics making a broad sweep of Mirage's mangled frame. "I say you've got ten breems before you grey out. Probably less."

"... Orders?"

"What else?" One of Thundercracker's talons drags lightly down Mirage's chassis, though he takes care to avoid the huge blaster wound. "One shot to the spark and another to the helm for good measure. You Autobots have the nasty tendency to survive otherwise. Hear you've got some kind of genius medic."

Mirage's ventilations hitch again. "Poetic," he murmurs. And how very fitting. A physical pain to match the proverbial agony of watching Thundercracker fly away what feels like vorns and vorns ago.

Thundercracker's optics cycle down and Mirage braces himself as protoform-grey arms reach for him.

No weapons emerge. Instead, Thundercracker picks him up, not gently, but with purpose, Mirage gasping with pain as unhappy sensors shriek with sensation.

"W-what are you doing?" Mirage demands, frame twitching, the smell of scorched circuits stronger now.

Thundercracker kicks on his thrusters, shooting toward the sky with a lurch in Mirage's tanks. Air rushes past his audials. The warning messages on his HUD screeches at him, flashing red and orange. Ten breems seems like an awfully short amount of time.

"What's it look like?" His once-lover retorts.

Mirage's vocalizer crackles, useless. His vision goes gray again, rife with static. His spark staggers, but not due to emotion this time.

No!

 _Stasis lock imminent_.

His fingers twitch. His frame jerks. Pain flows outward through the large rift in his chassis. He tastes purged energon.

Everything goes black.

"-age. Mirage!"

He onlines his optics with a harried ex-vent, staring straight into the concerned visor of a medibot.

"Thunder... cracker...?"

The visor dims, the mech pulling back just enough that Mirage can put designation to faceplate. It's First Aid.

"What did he say?" Another mech demands and this voice Mirage knows without having to look.

"Nothing, sir. He's delirious," First Aid replies, shifting his attention back to Mirage's repairs. "Energon loss will do that you. Processors start shutting down, circuits get crossed. You know how that is, Prowl."

Mirage feels numb. First Aid must have him on some kind of sensor block. And his processors certainly feel awhirl. But he remembers.

"When he's more lucid, contact me."

"Yes, sir."

Mirage hears several clipped pedesteps before a door whooshes open and closed. The constrained field in the room is now gone, leaving only Mirage's own and First Aid's, leaking with concern.

"... Aid?"

"You're safe," the medibot reassures with a soft pat to Mirage's uninjured shoulder. "You're back on base."

"How?"

First Aid looks at him, visor as unreadable as Jazz's could be. "I think we both know the answer to that."

Mirage would bet the million creds he doesn't have anymore that Prowl knows the answer too. Which is why he's so eager to question Mirage.

Thundercracker should have offlined him. But he hadn't. Instead, he'd somehow deposited Mirage where he'd get immediate, medical attention.

Why?

Maybe, and a part of him clings to this thin hope, maybe their past is not entirely forgotten. Maybe there's still a chance after all.

* * *


	4. Farewells

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They could not betray their factions, so instead, they abandoned each other.

He turns the tiny tag over and over in his fingers, tracing the glyphs stamped on the metal, the polished edges of it, worn by constant touch. It is warm from being close to his spark chamber, and fairly hums from absorbing so much latent energy.  
  
Somehow, Mirage did not think victory would be so hollow. He imagined a long celebration to go with his much anticipated return to Cybertron. He imagined peace and joy and recovery and rebuilding.  
  
The Decepticons are defeated, dead or exiled to the far reaches of space. Earth is safe. Cybertron belongs to the Autobot's once again. Or at least, what's left of it.  
  
Mirage can find no cause for celebration.  
  
Cybertron is a planet dying, dead, tumbling as it is across the cosmos without an anchor. It is a tattered ruin, nearly destroyed by the journey through the space bridge.  
  
Ironhide is dead and with him Wheeljack, the twins, Jolt, Arcee... so many of the Autobots who have made this victory possible. They fought and bled and don't get to live long enough to enjoy the peace that follows. How is that fair?  
  
Megatron is dead and Mirage is glad for it. He and the traitor Sentinel Prime. Cybertron will be better without both of them, rebuilt by Cybertronian hands and not human slave labor. Starscream, Shockwave, Soundwave... all of the Decepticon command, destroyed and smelted and drowned.  
  
But, Thundercracker too, is gone and Mirage can't seem to reconcile that truth.  
  
It's war. Such things happen. They were on opposite sides of an impassable wall. Mirage could no more betray the Autobots then Thundercracker could abandon the Decepticons. So instead, they had abandoned each other.  
  
Mirage has never had the luxury of regretting his decisions. He has been far more focused on surviving until the end of the war. As, bit by bit, Cybertron turned into a wasteland and the population was reduced.  
  
Mirage had watched everything he ever knew and loved turn into ash and rust. He had fired upon his former lover more times than he could count. There is nothing to be celebrated in this victory. Nothing.  
  
He only thinks once to try and find Thundercracker, give him a proper burial where they haven't attempted to do so in eons. But amidst the wreckage, twisted frames, and angry humans, Mirage is resigned to failing in this as well.  
  
And with the Allspark destroyed, only Primus knows where Thundercracker's spark has gone. Lost to the stars perhaps.  
  
Just like Cybertron and the rest of her people.  
  
It's an ache that has not eased, no matter how many times Mirage has fired his weapons, or survived another encounter. It is the memories that burn the fastest, the brightest. A time when Thundercracker had once saved his life, and Mirage had returned the favor.  
  
A time when Mirage's greatest hope was that peace would be won, apologies given, and the opportunity to start over would arise.  
  
Well, it had been a futile hope from the start, he supposes.  
  
His optics fall, once more, to the tiny tag in his hand. The etchings are almost worn away, not that he hasn't already memorized their glyphs.  
  
A gift from a lover, his most precious possession. It is meaningless now, as so much of Mirage's actions have become.  
  
He ventilates a low sigh and dips his helm, offlining his optics.  
  
It is pointless to cling to the past. He cannot restore what is unfixable. There are some wounds that cannot be healed, some fractures that cannot be mended.  
  
Mirage's thumb rubs over the worn glyphs one last time. He lifts the tiny tag, pressing a parting kiss to the metal, and then he flicks it from the tip of his thumb.  
  
His optics online to watch the metal glint as it flies into the sky, only to plummet down as quickly, landing amongst the detritus beneath him, buried with the rest of the fallen.  
  
Mirage turns away from the flattened city, so reminiscent of what Cybertron had become. Prime will be looking for him soon and there is much work to be done.  
  
He leaves the past behind him, though the ache in his spark is not so painfully discarded. It will stay with him, for better or worse, and that, Mirage thinks, is only part and parcel of what he deserves.  
  


***


End file.
